


Obsessed

by nirvhannahcornell



Category: Megadeth
Genre: F/M, Love Letters, One Shot, Past Relationship(s), imagine
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-19
Updated: 2019-06-19
Packaged: 2020-05-14 14:28:36
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,161
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19275199
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nirvhannahcornell/pseuds/nirvhannahcornell
Summary: Picture this, dear reader: you and Dave had a past relationship and it was allegedly pretty hot, but there’s a catch: he’s the one who got away. Or was he?Inspired by Gloria Vanderbilt’s novel Obsession, RIP Gloria





	Obsessed

It has been a week since Megadeth released Countdown to Extinction and you find out Dave is now married and has a child. While you feel happy for him, a part of you cannot resist feeling jealous, or better yet, you feel as though you missed the boat. In fact, you begin thinking that.  
You almost can’t believe you let him slip out your hands like that! That could have been you walking down the aisle to the altar. That could have been your baby son he is holding in his arms.   
And yet here you are, a single woman in the heart of your twenties working this mind numbing, boring retail job at Circuit City.  
You swore you had him in the palm of your hand: you swore that six months ago, you had both him and Lars eating out of your hand. He was yours; Lars was your hall pass, but Dave... Dave had a special place in your heart. But he met someone else, someone more obsessed than you, and you believed no one could feel more obsessed than you. He popped the question to her and now you are hearing he has a family now. Meanwhile, Lars is Mister Superstar now with the Black Album and it’s going to be a while before you hear from him again.  
For a week following the release of the album, you trudge home in your beat up sedan. You should be driving a fancy car with that redhead next to you in the front seat and your son in the back seat.  
Every day you drive to and from work from your small condo in Oceanside. One of the reasons he liked you was because you lived near his neck of the woods, not too far from his hometown of La Mesa. You watch rock fans and metal heads walk into the shop, day in and day out, as they pick up copies of Nevermind, Ten, Badmotorfinger, Facelift, Temple of the Dog, Blood Sugar Sex Magik, the Black Album, and Countdown, but also ...And Justice for All and Rust in Peace. Some of these people you look at and want to tell them all of your stories, your adventures with those men.   
When you come home, you walk past that old jewelry box he gave you when you guys were going out. That old box the size of a shoebox with two long narrow drawers, made of fine polished dark cherry wood. Every walk past that box is another reminder that Dave and the life of a rock star marriage was almost yours: so close that you can almost taste it, even now.  
But then one day while at work, a slender blonde woman walks into the shop, asking you if you knew Dave because you looked familiar. Unsure of where this is going, you say “yes”, but albeit with a bit of reluctance.  
She then tells you to go home that night and search through your jewelry box for something. She never tells you her name, and yet something tells you to trust her, and thus you take her word for it.  
You clock out and return home that evening; and as you walk into your home, you wonder about that woman, and in particular how she knew your name.  
You turn to the jewelry box from the shelf in your bedroom and, careful not to do anything to damage the cherry wood given you hadn’t opened the box in so long, you open the top shelf. Inside is a small stack of papers, all tied together in a bundle by a piece of twine. You take out the bundle to better observe the papers, in particular the top one.  
What’s this? You unfold it to find that you are holding a sheet of parchment paper, folded onto perfect thirds. A letter, from Dave.  
But wait, you don’t recall receiving a letter from him. Or any letters at all, for that matter. He always seemed more intent on screwing other women whenever he found the opportunity, but you had hope for the two of you. But you read the words:

“I want to give you my apologies ahead of time as I will be unable to come to your place soon. The reason is that I am recording an album and it’s either it or living off of your income. And I would rather starve to death and be a victim of my own nauseated stomach than suck you dry of funds.”

Dave, you think to yourself; you are touched by his words. Why didn’t you say anything ahead of time? I would’ve found a way for the both of us and we could have made it work between us.  
You put down the letter for the next one in the pile. A particular line stands out to you:

“I find myself thinking about you.”

Really? Well, why are you there? And why are you working a job you sort of tolerate and he is the one going out and playing before the masses?

“Even when I’m with other women, I find myself thinking about you. Even when I don’t outright say it or shout it from the rooftops, I think about you. Constantly. You are the mistress and the other woman for me, even without the slightest and richest touch. But I must confess that I am afraid of telling you, especially when I met a woman who is as obsessed with me as I am with you. Lars knows and understands obsession better than me but I hope this makes sense.”  
You read the third letter, wherein he writes: “my wish is to have your body next to mine, your lips entwined in mine, and the heat of your breath against my neck. My wish is to take you out and then let you lay in a silky moment upon my bed.”  
You part your lips. Those feelings are back again: that first night you were together and he let you give him the first blow he had had in a long time, not since he and his last girlfriend split. And then he ran his tongue right on the spot so as to make you come. You start breathing heavy and you wonder if he’s thinking about you now.  
You then read the fourth and final letter in the stack:

“If a blonde woman walks into your work and tells you about these letters, that’s my bride. She wants you to read these letters so you and I both know that no such physical affair happened between us: she doesn’t believe me in a million years even though she’s the mother of my children. But, may I remain in the memory of your flesh and the filmy tissue of your jewelry box until there may come a day we can entwine and come close to one another. Forever yours, in flesh, body, and soul, Dave Mustaine.”


End file.
